Silhouette
by chaos Leader
Summary: The Jedi are all but extinct, and the Empire has risen to power. Within the darkness, the sharpest ears in the galaxy begin to hear the faintest whispers. They are the voices that will ultimately grow into a raging war-cry. It is the call for Rebellion...
1. Silhouette

**Silhouette **

A lightsaber is an _incredibly_ inconvenient piece of equipment.

When activated, it shines like a beacon and roars like an ion-engine; and that's just when it's held steady. Simply swinging one makes the roar that much more prominent and when it strikes, it cracks as if it were bolt of lightning. The very act of holding such an item in one's hand is synonymous with a single incriminating word thats as good as a death sentence these days.

Jedi.

Yet for all its drawbacks, a lightsaber does have one redeeming quality: it is very small, which is probably the only reason why I still have mine. Not to mention that it can be quite handy as a tool in the right circumstances.

And then there is the almighty _Force_. Mediclorians within one's cells helping to play tricks on the very fabric of reality, all before reality has a chance to realize that it's been duped. Such parlor tricks have even more possible uses than the lightsaber, but the Force is conversely, even more dangerous to use than the lightsaber. The Empire's inquisitors have ways to locate, hunt down, capture and presumably kill any individual found to have some affinity with these parlor-tricks. And they do so through the Force; this is why I rarely use the Force any longer, at least overtly.

There is a curious planet within the inner-rim territories known as Myrkr, and on it are even morecurious creatures called yasalamiri. These little lizard-like animals –who have few more thoughts than to eat, to mate, or to survive– are essentially able to dam the flow of the Force, shut-off the tap to that reservoir of power. The yasalamir can render any individual who uses the Force to attack unable to harm them, and also renders the creatures undetected by those who use the Force to find them. Though it _is_ possible for one to learn this technique, it does inconveniently inhibit one's ability to use the Force for anything else. However, after Palpatine called for the extermination of all Jedi everywhere and began his campaign to eliminate all who use the Force, I have found this technique most useful in keeping a low-profile.

During the war, I was but a young Jedi Knight involved in the Bothan Spynet's operations based out of my home-world: Bothawui. The Grand Army of the Republic wanted to "keep an eye" on the Spynet, to make sure they were cooperating with the Republic's needs, so they sent in the clones like they'd always do. Not surprisingly, the Spynet administrators were nothing short of absolutely furious, and refused to allow the troops into their deep operations. The only compromise they would accept was to allow a Jedi –a Bothan Jedi specifically– to babysit their highest workings.

That would be me.

The Bothans, particularly in the Spynet, are a practical, cunning, even if a bit of a self-centered bunch. Do you know what they did when the infamous Order-66 was issued? When the clone troops burst into the Spynet's operations facility to slay me, the Bothans thought fast –putting their own interests first, as always– and made quite a show of staging my death. The thermal detonator may have been a bit overboard in my opinion, but it was enough to fool the mass-produced, single-minded soldiers of the Republic, or Empire, whichever it was at the time.

The Spynet saw the advantage in having a Jedi Knight hidden away within their ranks, and since the order was disbanded, they offered me a chance to work with them and live, or they would turn me over to the Empire to die. They didn't have to make it such a stark choice between life and death, as the circumstances at the time were like that anyway.  
I took them up on their offer, obviously, and I am alive, well, and out of the clutches of the Empire –even if the Jedi Knight the spynet was assigned is officially dead.

My teacher in the order was Jedi Master Kai Hudorra, but I presume him dead now: the same as a vast majority of all who were assigned to be Senior Generals in the Clone Wars. My given name was Mashir Ivei'lya of Clan Ilya, but I have not used it openly for over a decade. This is not a problem, as the Bothan Spynet highly encourages the use of aliases and false identities.  
My Spynet Codename is "Silhouette", and I often am not referred to by anything else.

And now, agents within the Bothan Spynet, with its fingers and ears reaching all-across and all-through the Galaxy, have finally confirmed the rumors about this Rebellion against the Empire. Now that, is an intriguing prospect, one I am certain my fellow Spynet Operatives won't be able to resist getting themselves involved into.

* * *

Author Note:

This is simply a project that came to me recently. If enough people like it, I will probably continue it.


	2. Heartbroken Pride

_****_Author Note:

Alright, I've finally decided to go ahead and write this thing. This chapter actually knocks the story back quite a ways in the timeline, since there are things there that might be important later on. hopefully I haven't given away too much. By the way, many of the characters in this chapter _are_ actually canon characters. See if you can guess who they are!

_**Heartbroken Pride**_

-38 BBY-

An ordinary enough speeder taxi darted through a somewhat upscale suburban housing development, during a brisk afternoon. The buildings here favored a simple elegance in their architecture, with nothing too garish, nor completely dull. The landscape was mostly developed over by the residences, but beyond was a lush temperate landscape of plains and forests, which spilled into an impressive ridge of snow frosted mountains. This was a suburb of Drev'starn, the capitol city of Bothawui, and the planet's largest urban center.

The taxi soon came to a stop outside one of the houses, and two men clothed in the ubiquitous robes of jedi exited. One was a stocky human with a jovial, almost carefree face, but which belied a hidden cunning and wisdom. The other man was young Bothan, with a cleanly cropped mane and beard of jet-black over khaki fur. While the human's expression at the time was that of assured confidence, the bothan jedi however was far more anxious.

"Master Giiett, I must urge some restraint and guarded tone here." the bothan jedi cautioned, "The Ivei'lyas are members of the very proud Bothan clan Ilya, and they will... _greatly appreciate_ a certain measure of respect and courtesy."

"Well honestly Kai, who doesn't?" Giiett said with a chuckle, "Oh don't look so sour. You _know_ I wouldn't have brought you along if I didn't value your expertise on these things."

"Because I'm Bothan." Kai said flatly.

"Well, yes." Giiett responded, "Who else is going to help me navigate the minefield of Bothan society's faux-pas? You think I'd trust the Acquisition Division with such sensitive subjects? And please Kai, how many times have I told you to just call me 'Micah'?"

"Too many times, mas– Micah."

The two jedi precoded down the house's walkway to the front door. It was one of the more luxurious houses, at least from how it appeared on the outside, with a neatly manicured lawn and garden out front, and a well maintained building exterior. It was definitely the home of a family that was fairly well-off, and could afford these luxuries.

"Now, what would be the most appropriate greeting to use here?" Micah asked about halfway through the walkway.

Kai pondered it for a few moments, sifting through the long list of Bothan customary greetings, and came up with, "Favor and Fortune upon you and your house."

"A bit vain, isn't it?" Master Giiett commented.

"It's Bothan." Kai responded with a shrug.

They reached the front door, activated the door chime, and waited.

The door pated open a few moments later, showing a sharply dressed Bothan man on the other side. His features were well groomed, but the one element that stood out most about him was the flame-red color of his neatly cropped mane. He received the two jedi visitors with a look first of surprise, then of concern, bordering almost on suspicion.

"Favor and Fortune upon you and your house." Master Giiett greeted as he bowed forward; a normal Jedi gesture of respect.

"Ah, um..." the other Bothan imitated the bow, and replied, "May the Force be with you, Master Jedi."

"I am Master Micah Giiett, and this is Knight Kai Hudorra." he motioned to Kai, "Is this the house of Karka Ivei'lya?"

"It is, and I am he." the flame-maned Bothan answered with a nod.

"May we come inside?" Giiett asked, "I hope we aren't intruding."

"No, not at all, please, come in and make yourselves comfortable."

"Thank you for your hospitality."

Karka showed the two jedi into his home. The interior was much like the exterior: simple elegance. The front door opened into a small foyer, connected directly to a cozy, well-kept living area just past it. Ivei'lya showed Giiett and Hudorra to the couches and coffee table, and the two jedi took a seat as they waited for their hosts.

"Eshka dear, we have guests!" Karka announced.

A lady Bothan soon came down the staircase at one side of the room, with a look of slight annoyance on her face. "Not so loud, husband." she scolded at Karka, "I just put Mashir to her nap."

"Of course, of course. Foolish me." Karka chided himself at a much quieter volume, then returned his attention to his guests, "May I get the Masters Jedi something? Kothtri?"

"Thank you," Kai replied with a reverent nod, "that would most kind of you."

And with that, Karka went into the kitchen area on the other side of the great room, leaving Eshka alone with the two Jedi for a moment.

"What exactly is _'Kothtri'_?" Giiett asked Kai in a whisper.

"Spiced fruit drink, Master." the Bothan Jedi replied, "Almost everyone on Bothawui has their own recipe."

"Ah."

Eshka sat down on the loveseat opposite the Jedi, a slight tinge of worry coming across that she did her best to hide, "May I ask what brings the Jedi Order here, to our house?"

"I think it'll be fair if we wait for you husband before we discuss it." Master Giiett answered.

Karka Ivei'lya returned to the living area carrying a tray with a full pitcher and four glasses, which he set down on the coffee table between everyone and began distributing among his guests.

"Now, Masters Jedi, what can we do for you?" Karka asked as he sat next to his wife. His hospitality and cheerful ways hid an anxiety, a deep-troubled worry that the two Jedi could easily sense.

Best not to beat around the bush here.

"We are here to discuss your daughter." Master Giiett said in as calm a tone as he could manage.

The anxiety in the Ivei'lyas was swept away in an instant, replaced by a sudden realization. Why else would Jedi come to their house?

"Is–" Eshka stammered out, "is our little girl...?"

The Jedi gave them a slow nod as their answer. Little Mashir was a Force-sensitive, and the Jedi have come to claim her for the Order. Eshka and Karka clasped their hands together, not sure what to make of the revelation.

"Coming with us is really the best thing for your daughter." Micah Giiett explained, "The Order can teach Mashir to control her gift, and to use the Force for the betterment of the whole Galaxy."

"She will be treated well, provided for, protected, and given the finest education the Galaxy has to offer." Hudorra added.

It was a hard conclusion to come to, but the Ivei'lyas were coming to realize they wouldn't know what to do with their daughter's Force-sensitivity, how to help her. Not to mention the possibility of ridicule among her future peers as a 'freak'. However, the prospect of a complete, comprehensive education, and being looked after by esteemed Jedi Order filled them with some sense of solemn solace.

It was a strange sort of pride they felt then: a heartbroken pride.

"When does she need to leave?" Karka was finally able to ask.

"The sooner it is, the less painful it'll be." Master Giiett told him.

"I see..." Karka's head hung low for a moment, then he gave his forehead a much needed scratch, "Give us a minute, so we can pack her things, say our goodbyes."

"Of course."

Karka and Eshka Ivei'lya left the two Jedi in their living room, and went up the stairs in silence.

They soon made it to the nursery, a dimly lit room decorated in soft pastel colors, equipped with all of the necessary infant care accessories and furnishings needed to care for a child. The child in question was there, in the room, lying in the crib, fast asleep.

"You can't _seriously_ think this is right." Eshka protested, "You can't just let the Jedi take Mashir, not so easily. What will everyone say?"

"I don't care _what_ they'd say!" he snapped back, quietly, so not to wake the baby, "We want what's best for her, don't we? This Jedi thing is the best there is for someone like her, what more can we ask?"

Eshka couldn't argue that point, but she didn't seem at all satisfied. She just stood there, petrified with that helpless look about her.

Karka bent down over the crib and gently lifted the infant Bothan child out. With his daughter in his arms, he pitched his point to the baby instead, "I don't care how far these Jedi try to indoctrinate you, how hard they try to make us forget about you, or you us. You will _always_ be a daughter of Bothawui, a daughter of clan Ilya, _our_ daughter..."

Karka looked up to his wife, who after holding back so very hard shed a single tear, and a weak smile graced her once again beautiful face.

"Go little Mashir, make us proud," he whispered to the bundled child in his arms, "show these Jedi just what it means to be _Bothan._"


	3. Unorthodox Methods

Author Note:

Here's another chapter of the backstory, a little bit longer, and introduces a couple more characters. At least of them I've decided will be important later on, which is odd, since I only made that decision after the fact. Ah well, onto the story then!

_**Unorthodox Methods**_

-28 BBY-

The Jedi Temple on Coruscant once again hosted its annual Apprentice Exhibition Tournament, a competition that gave the young initiates a chance demonstrate their skills to a potential master. Indeed, the temple was far busier now than it typically was, with knights and masters who had been away on assignment returning to see the progress made by the now not-so-younglings as they grow up, and their training continued. Many of the initiates spend most to all of their time preparing for this specific tournament as it approached, hoping to impress the returning Jedi so to be chosen to become one of their Padawans.

The tournament was held in the combat training center, a dojo of sorts. The individual contests took place in a central ring, one young initiate against another. The rules were simple: three saber strikes, from the low-powered training saber the initiates uses, determined the victor, stepping out of the ring counted as a "strike" against the initiate.

One pair of worn-out initiates stepped out of the ring, panting, sweating and battered from the exertion. It wasn't clear who was the winner as neither seemed elated in victory nor shamed in defeat; mostly they seemed tired.

The gathered knights and masters looked on as another pair of initiates stepped into the ring. One was a Bothan girl, Mashir, who'd taken after her father's khaki fur and flame-red mane. She walked into the ring with confidence, if somewhat forced. It's hard not to feel a little nervous at that point, when so many far more experienced Jedi are watching your every move, judging your every action.

Mashir was joined in the ring by a slightly older human boy with neatly cropped blonde hair; his name was Wenton Baskalar, Chandrilan. He'd spent a great amount of effort practicing and perfecting his lightsaber technique for this tournament, and it showed.

Baskalar took the training saber in his hands and activated the shining, humming blue blade. He brought the blade up in front of his face, and then flourished it down to his side in the traditional salute of the Makashi lightsaber form. His movements were precise, in control, and flowed easily into the next.

"Are you ready?"

Mashir hefted her own training lightsaber in her hand, getting used to having it there, but did not activate it. She simply looked back up to Wenton and gave him a nod as she answered, "Yes."

Wenton looked a little confused at first, but then thought better of it. Clearly she was trying, and perhaps succeeding, to throw off Baskalar with an unorthodox approach. The gathered Jedi likewise showed some measure of interest in this choice.

One of these was Jedi Knight Kai Hudorra, "What's she doing?" he asked to those around him, "Her lightsaber isn't even on."

"Watch and see, Kai." Master Fy-Tor-Ana answered. She was a human woman who, if not for the lightsaber at her side, didn't even look like a Jedi in her formfitting outfit and short-cropped black hair.

Back in the dueling ring, Mashir had just started walking straight toward Wenton, very casually, but with a certain keenness in her eye that did not go unnoticed by him. He stepped back, cautiously, not entirely sure what to make of it, but she kept right on advancing.

Wenton was soon backed to the edge of the dueling ring, and had do something else to remain in. He sidestepped with a quick slash meant to keep her at bay, but Mashir had ducked beneath it, coming dangerously close, and with startling quickness. Baskalar came down with another retreating strike, but found that Mashir had taken hold of his wrist.

He moved to break the hold, an easy enough maneuver, but Mashir's opposing lightsaber blade had just materialized beneath his chin. There was nothing for it, the round was hers.

Wenton and Mashir stepped away from each other and took positions at either side of the ring once again. He hesitated too much that last round, his indecisiveness had allowed her to close the distance and step inside his strikes, something he should _never _have allowed to happen. No doubt he'd get an earful from the saber instructor about it afterward. There was still time to make up for it though; she'd only won the first round.

The Bothan deactivated her lightsaber and looked him in the eye across the ring, "Ready?"

Baskalar again performed the Makashi salute, sharper, and crisper, as he would need to be from now on, "I am."

Wenton stepped forward this time, not directly at her, but around her, watching for her next move. He needed to find the weaknesses of her defense to take advantage of, but in her 'unprepared' stance, she didn't preset a defense at all. That was her stratagem, and she must've known it'd drive him to distraction the way it has. Perhaps a more direct approach was necessary: don't hesitate, don't overthink the situation.

With that mindset, Wenton advanced with a quick thrust, easily dodged as he'd expected. He followed-up with a fluid slash, which Mahsir had activated her lightsaber to catch. Yet as soon as their blades made contact, she shut her blade off again, causing him to stagger off balance a bit. That was enough of an opening for Mashir to duck under his blade and get inside his strikes again. He would not be fooled by these deceptions again.

Her blade had rematerialized at his neck again, but Baskalar's blade had found its place across her back: a draw. Two for her, one for him.

The draw had come at much too high a cost. What was he thinking? Advance? Charge straight into her like an angry bantha? That's not how the Makashi form works. She's throwing him of balance, pushing him out of what he'd been practicing. Stick with what you know, remember the form, that's how you'll come out on top.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Master Fy-Tor-Ana said to Hudorra as they watched on.

"Yes, but I don't think I recognize that form." Kai replied.

"It's not exactly a "lightsaber" form per-se."

"What do you mean?"

"Mashir's been doing agility training and practicing martial arts with me for months: Echani, Teräs Käsi, K'tara and others. That didn't have to be a lightsaber in her hands, you know. A blaster, vibroblade, or even her bare fist would've worked. The only reason she has the saber at all is because of the tournament rules."

"You put her up to this." Kai deduced

"I may have said something about the best way to confuse someone in a lightsaber duel was to put away the lightsaber." Fy-Tor-Ana responded with a sly shrug, "And besides, it's a potent statement: a Jedi ought not have any business holding a weapon like a lightsaber, not unless they have complete control of themselves first. Mashir's performance here should solidify that statement."

"You aren't thinking of taking an apprentice, are you?" Hudorra asked the eccentric Jedi Master, half joking.

"Ha! Never have, never will." she scoffed back.

Everyone in the order knew Master Fy-Tor-Ana wouldn't ever take a Padawan. She preferred to remain at the temple as an instructor, training others in the ways of dexterity and agility she was known for.

Baskalar and Mashir took their respective positions on either side of the ring once again, and simply gave each other a nod to begin the next round.

Watch her lightsaber, be aware of where it is and what it's doing, even if it's not on, that's the only thing she can use to score. He was a fool to underestimate her, to be thrown off by something so simple; she wouldn't have made those choices if she didn't know what she was doing, and clearly, she knew.

Wenton came on the aggressive again, this time with a rapid flurry. This was not blind aggression however, he was simply forcing Mashir to up a defense, to give Baskalar something he could read and then exploit. As he expected, she simply dodged most of the 'attacks' with her lightsaber inactive, pressing in for the surprise.

He was ready for it this time.

Mashir activated her lghtsaber blade once more, but Wenton received it on his own blade. He parried and twisted their sabers around, stepping out to a comfortable distance as he levered the tip of his shining blade at her neck. The round was his, and the elegant precision of the Makashi form once again proves its superiority in lightsaber-on-lightsaber duels. That makes two strikes each, and one final round to determine the victor.

Baskalar and Ivei'lya took up opposing positions in the ring one last time for the final round. There, Wenton performed the Makashi salute as he stared down the Bothan girl across from her, and she stared back. They didn't need words anymore, they knew they were ready. He was focused, aware, in control, precise; everything the Makashi form exemplified. Mashir may have been crafty and inventive, but there was nothing she could do that could escape Baskalar's awareness anymore, not since she'd lost that crucial element of surprise.

Mashir's lightsaber screamed to life as she leapt at Wenton, slashing at him in an impressive sequence of maneuver. Ivei'lya had taken a different approach now: aggressive, flashy, meant to distract. Baskalar recognized these swift acrobatics as apart of Lightsaber Form IV: Ataru. The duel continued on for some time, with rather conventional saber-on-saber action. Mashir definetly had the movement and momentum capacity to use Ataru effectively, but it would not work here, not against the Makashi form. The inventive techniques she used before had caught Wenton off-guard, bringing the match to this point, but she'd abandoned those techniques now in favor of the established Ataru form once he'd caught on to the shenanigans.

Naturally, it wasn't long before Wenton landed a disarming strike on Mashir, sending her training saber out of her hands and clattering out of the ring. Baskalar however did not go for the finishing strike. He simply stepped forward, saber toward the Bothan, and spoke to her.

"You've fought well, Mashir, but it's over." Baskalar told her at the point of his saber, " The round, and the match, are now mine. Out of respect, I now give you the chance to forfeit."

The combat training center, and everyone who was watching, went quiet, waiting for the next move. Technically, the match wasn't over just yet: Wenton had not gone in for a decisive strike. Yet with no weapon in her hands, Mashir had little choice but to forfeit, or take the strike from Baskalar with no defenses.

Even so, she looked back at Wenton, and just shook her head, "No thanks."

"So be it."

Baskalar went in with a thrust, but something odd happened: his lightsaber had switched off. Instead of striking his opponent with a final decisive blow, his hand just went harmlessly toward her with a metal cylinder clenched in it. Mashir's hands went for his, wrenching the inactive saber from his hand before he could recover from the surprise and get a better grip. With the saber in her hand, all she had to do now was–

"No!" Wenton growled.

He channeled the Force in a moment of rage, feeling a wash of power flow through him he hadn't before, and used it to shove Mashir back away from him and avoid the imminent slash. This time, she was the one caught off guard, and tumbled back away from Baskalar's push. When Mashir rolled back to her feet again, she found she was outside the ring.

"The match goes to Wenton Baskalar." the presiding master announced. The attending Jedi replied with a respectful round of applause for the two initiates.

Wenton was standing there in the center of the ring, tired, and winded. He'd touched the dark side of the Force without realizing it, and it left him startled, shaken. He may have won the match, but he could feel the scrutiny and cautious judgment being passed upon him in that moment, for allowing his emotions, his desire to win, to influence his actions.

"Wait!" one of the Jedi called out, "I have an announcement."

Knight Kai Hudorra stepped forward into the ring toward Wenton Baskalar, "I shall take on a Padawan learner." he said as he looked around the combat training center, with all the other Jedi looking back in anticipation.

"Mashir Ivei'lya."


	4. Half the Battle

_**Half the Battle**_

-23 BBY-

A small, tri-wing Eta-class shuttle soared over a thick forest of a temperate world. The craft was painted in the classic red and white color scheme favored by the Jedi order. After a short time, the shuttle descended into a clearing in the forest and touched down.

Two figures in Jedi robes exited the shuttle, both Bothan, one older and one younger: Kai Hudorra and Mashir Ivei'lya.

The forest of this world was tolerable enough: cool, but not cold, with mostly clear skies that weren't threatening to dump rain. Even so, it was still a great relief to be off that tiny, cramped excuse of a shuttle. But yet, there seemed to be something intangible about this world that was, at least for Mashir, a little strange.

"Here we are! Myrkr, homeworld of the Neti." Kai announced with a motion to the surrounding forest, "You _do_ remember the Neti, don't you?"

"The Force sensitive tree people, I _know._" Mashir answered, trying hard not to be annoyed, or uneasy about the oddities she felt from this planet, "Master T'ra Saa is one of them."

"Many believe that Ryyk is the Neti homeworld, but that's not entirely true." Kai continued, apparently oblivious to his Padawan's troubles, "The Neti left this world over four thousand years ago, abandoning it entirely, and established a permanent colony on Ryyk instead. Can you imagine why?"

"Not really." Mashir answered, her disinterest concealing a hidden anxiety, "Let's just meet our contact, do our business, and get out of here. This place feels... off."

Hudorra shrugged, "Suit yourself, Mashir, but a little knowledge can go a very long way."

"This isn't going to be another one of those _'knowing is half the battle'_ speeches, is it?" Mashir drawled, dreading yet another dull lecture on the value of knowledge. This wasn't the time or the place for it, not when... something.

"No, not this time." Kai assured her as he pulled out a datapad and checked it over, "The coordinates where we meet our contact are just a little ways south of here, let's go–"

"Master, wait!" Mashir implored, "I've got a bad feeling about this."

"Oh?"

"I– I can't feel the Force." she stammered out. She was shaking, terrified, "I can't sense anything. I feel... _helpless._"

"Don't lose focus, Mashir." Kai placed a hand on her shoulder, and scanned the area around him with suddenly keen eyes, "There is a pack of vornskr hounds is closing in on us."

"Where?" Mashir asked.

Kai waited, and listened for a moment, "Everywhere."

"What do we do?"

"What would you normally do?"

"Trust the Force?" Mashir answered, unsure.

It was quiet, but there was a faint series of noises arising that weren't there before: rustle of foliage, a pant of beastly breath, muffled footfalls.

"Hmm..." Hudorra's attention stayed on his environment, watching for the vornskr hounds, but kept a calm tone with his Padawan, "Do you remember your very first lessons, when you were blindfolded and asked to trust the Force when your other senses failed you?"

Mashir nodded, still trying to look for the hounds that were circling them. "That was one of Master Yoda's teachings, that we should _always_ trust in the Force."

"I'm sorry to say it, but even even our dear Grandmaster Yoda can be wrong once in a while." Kai replied with a short chuckle, "This, right now, is the exact inverse of that lesson: the Force does not exist here, and it cannot help you, but you are _not_ helpless. You still have your eyes, your ears, your knowledge, your combat training, and your instincts. Trust in them instead."

And there was one of them: a dark shadow skulking through the trees, nearly silent, nearly invisible, but there nonetheless. The vonskr were circling, drawn toward the two Jedi, but waiting patiently for their opportunity to strike like true predators.

"So, any tips for taking out these vornskr things?" Mashir asked,

"Go for the tail." Hudorra lifted his lightsaber from the belt at his waist, and answered, "The vornskr will lose their aggressiveness if it's severed, and they will flee."

"It's like you say, Master: knowing is half the battle, right?" she took her own lightsaber in hand in a firm, controlled grip.

"Indeed, but _only _half." With a flick of the wrist and a gleam in his eye, Kai's lightsaber sprung to life with a humming olive green blade.

There was a rustle and sharp snap of twigs, then one of the shadows leapt out from a cluster of bushes straight at Hudorra. The Bothan jedi ducked and slid on his back under the flying form. He kicked up at it to force it to overshoot, and made a sweeping slash as it passed, slicing into something. The shadow made a yelp as it landed, stumbling on the forest floor.

The shadow turned out to be a large and fearsome dark furred hound: a vonskr. The animal staggered up, letting out a wounded, oddly pathetic whine from such a visually intimidating creature. The hound licked its stump of a tail, still smoking from Kai's slash, and slunk off into the depths of the–

"Mashir! Focus!" Kai shouted.

Another vonskr came charging out of the surrounding underbrush, snarling as it came at Mashir. She had only moments to act; moments which felt all the shorter without the help of the Force. In that moment, Ivei'lya leapt up and forward, over the charging vonskr hound, which managed to bite down on her robes, catching the young Bothan mid-leap. She thumped down onto the animal's back, and barely activated her classic blue lightsaber, slicing the hound's tail clean off just as she tumbled to the ground.

Like the first one, this vonskr flinched with a painful yelp, and then slunk away from the fight, leaving Mashir on the ground. She was dirty, roughed up, sore, and surprisingly winded. The Force had made everything seem so effortless before, granting unparalleled reflexes, precise control, and endless endurance. This fight with the vonskr though made her feel like a foolish, clumsy youngling once again.

Mashir staggered up from the dirt, greeted by a only somewhat amused Kai Hudorra.

"Not so easy, is it?" he said, his firm exterior mired by a glinting smirk.

"It shouldn't... be so hard." She managed between gasping breaths as she flung her torn outer robe away.

"Prepare yourself!" Kai shouted, "More are coming!"

The fierce melee that ensued between the two Jedi and the pack of vonskr hounds began. It lacked the dazzling displays of acrobatics or the magic of Force powers, but the fight was no less intense; more-so even, without the advantage of the Force. They couldn't bolster their stamina, or intuitively know the next moves of their opponents. As such, Kai and Mashir used only the simplest of maneuvers, and if anyone familiar with Jedi had seen it, they would initially see their technique as clumsy, sloppy, and unrefined.

The fight didn't last too long, and all of the vonskr had either fled or were struck down, littering the forest floor with their slain bodies. By the end of it, the two Bothan Jedi were left dirty, sweat-drenched, heaving breaths from exhaustion, in robes that had been torn or soiled in many places.

"Well done, young Padawan..." Kai congratulated as the last startled yowl of a fleeing vonskr faded away into the woods, his own voice drained and weary from the fight, "Even without the benefit of the Force, your abilities have proved sharp and well honed."

Mashir said nothing, so drained was she from the fight, as well as the shock of no contact with the Force. The unifying threads that united all living things, which normally formed a web from which she drew power, that she had lived with all her life before, was gone. Never before had the young Jedi felt so helpless, or so alone...

After a few seconds, she simply returned her lightsaber to its belt clip, and scooped up her tattered outer robe, stunned into an eerie silence.

"Are you alright?" Hudorra asked, as he approached his apprentice, and laid a hand on her shoulder. She shuddered at the touch.

"H– how is it that the Force is... absent in this place?" Mashir asked, her voice vacant, haunted, "What's causing it? Is it something of the Dark Side?"

"No, nothing so insidious. It is only the Yasalamiri." Kai answered, and pointed out an unassuming lizard like creature that clung to a nearby tree, "Other than their unique trait that shuts out the Force, there is little to fear from them."

"Its just these... _lizard_ things?" Mashir uttered as she examined the creature closer, her words pinged with disbelief.

"Our contact is this way. I will explain on the way." Kai Hudorra beckoned his Padawan further through the forest, speaking as he did so.

"The vornskr hounds we just fought use the Force to hunt, to sense and pursue their prey. Over time, the yasalamiri evolved a way to shut out the Force as a defense mechanism against the vornskr's senses, rendering them invisible to anything and anyone that uses the Force to find them. Incidentally, this unique trait also nullifies other Force abilities used against them. This is why the Mandalorians, when they needed an edge over the Jedi during the Mandalorian wars, came here and collected them. There was even a major battle fought here during that conflict, mainly for control of these yasalamiri."

"I bet these yasalamir are the reason the Neti left." Mashir observed, "They can't survive without the Force."

"Indeed, many xenobiologists and historians would probably agree with you." Kai replied with a small hint of pride, and another hint of a tired sigh, "The order however, does its best to keep Myrkr in obscurity, lest the yasalimir of this world find their way into nefarious hands. I disagree with that aim though, because these remarkable yet otherwise dull creatures teach us all a valuable lesson, and forces us to ask a very important question."

"And what question is that, Master?" Mashir asked

Kai paused a moment, and turned to the young Bothan with as grave and serious an expression as she'd seen, "What are we without the Force?"

"But the Force defines us, binds us to all living things." Mashir answered the obvious question, motioning to the trees, vines, and all the forest around them.

"And yet, the flow of the Force can be stemmed, and dammed, cutting us off from that most fundamental of bonds." Kai pointed out a dead and rotting tree as they passed, "Far too many Jedi these days use the Force as a crutch, and allow other skills and talents to atrophy, or do not develop them at all. Never forget my Padawan, even though the Force is our constant companion, our most versatile tool, that tools do break, and even our most trusted companions will let us down sometimes."

"So what do we do?" Mashir asked.

"It is wise to have other means available: practical skills first and foremost, saving the Force for when it is absolutely necessary. Do not ever underestimate the value of merit outside the Force, and how then, the Force may compliment and enhance your knowledge and skills on top of them. You demonstrated this potential the day I chose you as my apprentice. In your duel against Wenton Baskalar, when disarmed, you used the force to deactivate his saber at the last second, and then disarm him in turn."

"It was a dirty tactic–"

"Yet it was clever, and well within the rules."

"But Baskalar still won that match."

"The only reason Baskalar won was because he lost control, unexpectedly, and had a brush with rage..." Kai pointed out with a shrug, "Not that I entirely disapprove though; I only disapprove that Wenton was clumsy with his emotions."

"Why is that?" Mashir wondered.

"Bear in mind that what I am about to tell you is not the doctrine taught by Yoda, or much of the Jedi."

"Care to explain, Master?"

"The rules and tenants of the Jedi, while well-meaning, inspire fear and hate, not just from those outside the order who are untrusting of Jedi, but also within ourselves." Kai explained, "Many in the Galaxy consider Jedi hypocrites, and rightly so. From our very first lessons, we are taught to fear the Dark Side, to avoid it whenever possible, and confront it whenever we can. Ironically, these teachings often instill within the Jedi the very same fear and hate that is claimed to start down the dark path: fear and hate of the Dark Side.

"It is my belief that we _need_ our fears, but must not be made afraid by them. As one example, one need not be afraid to break a few rules once in a while." Master Hudorra gave an aside glance and a wink just then, "You see Mashir, very soon I am going to break one of the tenants of the Jedi order, one of those strict guidelines I do not fully support. Hopefully it will teach a thing or two in the process as well."

"And which tenant did you plan on breaking?"

"Ah, here we are!" Kai exclaimed, ignoring the question entirely,

The two Bothan Jedi emerged in a clearing in the forest, occupied by a camp that looked like it'd been there at least a few months. The camp was further occupied by people of questionable demeanor, most of them well armed and bearing a tired, gruff expression. All of them however were on alert, and some raised their weapons on the newcomers.

"Hold your fire, you lousy duds!" one of the men called out, and the others complied.

The figure who spoke approached the Jedi. He was human, Corellian by the look and sound of him, "You two look like you've been through hell, then dragged through the underbrush behind a speeder. Was that you that riled up those vonskr?"

"My apologies Jorj, it couldn't be helped." Kai replied with a small bow in the typical Jedi greeting.

The Correlian sighed and shook his head, "I swear, you Jedi types are the _least _subtle people I've ever had to work with."

"Mashir, this is Jorj Car'das: a smuggler." Master Hudorra motioned to the bearded man, then turned motioning to Mashir, "Jorj, this is my Padawan, Mashir Ivei'lya."

"I kind-of prefer the term 'Intrepid Businessman' over the crass 'Smuggler' myself." Car'das corrected, offering his hand to the young Bothan, who accepted, and gave it a polite shake.

Mashir felt something in Jorj's hand as she shook it, a palm-sized holocommunicator by the feel of it.

The Correlian gave a small smirk when he saw the realization cross the Bothan's face, "A handsome bit of credits went in to make this happen for you, Mashir."

"For me?"

When she drew her hand away holding the holocommunicator, it activated, and a flickering image soon came into focus.

"Mashir?" the image was another Bothan, middle aged, and somehow familiar... "By the shining rays of our glorious star Both, you've grown! And into such a beautiful young woman too!"

"Father?" she realized with a start.

"Yes Mashir, it's Karhka, your father!" Karhka Ivei'lya exclaimed with more joy than he knew how to convey, "You have no idea how long I've waited for this moment."

"How did you find me?!" Mashir asked, starting to well up with a whole slew of her own emotions, "The order restricts any communication with family."

"Smugglers, heh." Karhka answered with a proud chuckle, "They're the most resourceful scoundrels the Galaxy has to offer, able to get nearly anything from point Aurek to point Besh."

"But how can you keep this up? The Jedi can monitor the holonet transmissions–"

"Not likely, not the way we've sliced–" Car'das interrupted, then stopped himself, "I think I'll just give you folks some privacy."

"Yes, thank you Jorj." Karhka's projection gave the Correlian a nod, and Car'das walked away from the uneasy Jedi.

"Are you well, father?" Mashir asked once they were alone enough. She tried, but couldn't hide the wavering in her voice.

"Yes, _incredibly_ well, especially now." Karhka answered with a beaming face, "Oh how I wish you could've been there at the last Combined Clans meeting here at home, when I told off that buffoon who had the gall to try and insult you, and how I stood up for you,"

"Oh?"

"They said their usual sniping bluster: _'You sent your only daughter away from her home, Karhka!' 'How could you betray your clan that way?' 'Do you not respect the Bothan way?' _You know, the normal sort of clan-rivalry trash."

"Actually, I don't know..." Mashir pointed out, "but anyway, what did _you_ say?"

"So I stood up there, and told the most boisterous dolt of the lot, _'At least my jewel Mashir is out protecting the Galaxy, making it a better place for us all, and not whoring herself away to every swinging swaggering Bishket on Bothawui like _your_ daughter!'_" Karhka had to stop a moment, letting out a bout of proud laughter, "You should have seen the look on his face; priceless!"

"Why are you doing all this, Father?" the Jedi asked suddenly,

"I don't want you to forget about us, Mashir." Karhka answered, becoming earnest, voice bent with a swirl of emotions all coming at him at once, "I don't want you to forget who you were, who you are, who you always will be. Even in your brief time with us, your mother and I loved you so very much then, we still do now, and always will."

"How is Mother?"

"She..." Karhka hesitated, torn between truth and hurt, "She's hanging on... "

"What's wrong?"

"I..." then nothing; just an awkward glance off to the side.

"Father please, tell me." Mashir insisted.

"I... I've tried many times since we gave you up to convince your mother we ought to have another child, but she's... petrified with fear, terrified the Jedi will take away our baby again. After all these years, she bears that shame and sorrow still. She hasn't been able to move on."

"Maybe... I could talk with her." Mashir suggested, curious, concerned, conflicted.

"I'm not sure that would help her, to be reminded of that shame once again, to see her child that she's not allowed to love."

"Does she know you're doing this?" the young Jedi asked, "Does Mother know you've been trying to contact me?"

"No..." Karhka said shaking his head, eyes downcast, "She knows nothing, it would bring her too much pain."

"Please, tell Mother about this, and tell her she needn't worry herself so much. I don't want her to be sad over me."

"If... if there comes a time when she is ready to know, I promise I will tell your mother anything you want her to know."

"Thank you." "Please do, Father."

"Blast it! The holonet encryption's deteriorating, some kind of interference..." Jorj Car'das cursed as he barged in, killing the moment, "Sorry folks, but you'll have to wrap this up quick."

"I love you Mashir, and so does your mother, so very much." Karhka said, hurried, with too much to say and too little time.

"I love you too." Mashir replied, trying to ignore the tears welling up in her eyes.

The projection in the palm of her hand began to flicker, and the words jumbled with static, "W... ill spea... ith each... again... time... omise!"

"Father!" the young Bothan Jedi called out, but was only met with the dead sound of white noise.

Only then, in the sudden silence, did Mashir notice that she was trembling, that her breath was coming in and out in stuttering sobs, that there was a pain through her chest as it a barbed icicle had been thrust in her. The silent holocommunicator fell out of her hand, and she staggered toward Master Hudorra, her legs threatening to collapse under her.

Mashir threw her arms around her Master, then couldn't hold on any longer, letting her tears flow from her eyes onto Kai's robes.

"Why did you do this to me?" she quietly demanded between sobs, "Tell me, please."

Master Hudorra was silent for a time, only able to hold his distraught Padawan in as warm an embrace as he could manage. When he did speak, his voice was quiet, and a little unsure of itself, "Your father would have persisted, and quite possibly have gotten into trouble with the order if I–"

"No! Don't treat me like a bumbling youngling! I don't need the Force to know that's not the _real_ truth!" Mashir snapped back, her weeping eyes and sobbing voice suddenly sharp as daggers, "What exactly did you expect me to learn from _this!?_"

"Mashir I..." Kai stopped short, trying to find the best way to word his intentions, and word them in a way that wouldn't cause more upset. "I felt it best that you should experience these kinds of emotions, to know how it feels firsthand, and in a controlled manner. The fact that you had this experience here, without the Force, made it safe. Should a sudden surge of emotion overcome you, it would not be able to take hold through the Force, and then twist these unfamiliar feelings inside you like so many who are consumed by the Dark. I did this so when you feel these intense emotions again, you will be better prepared to handle them."

"It hurts, Master..." Mashir managed in a weak, feeble voice; a scared voice, "It hurts inside... more than any pain I've ever known."

"Then let it hurt, do not try to shut it out." Kai held the young Padawan closer, who then rested her weary head on his shoulder "We fear most what we do not know, Mashir. By knowing this pain, by becoming familiar with the agony inside... you will not be made afraid by it."

Kai almost didn't believe the words he spoke, but he knew them to be true, and he had to speak them nonetheless. Master Hudorra may have been obligated to be the steady pillar of support to his apprentice, but he could not help but feel some guilt claw at him. To have brought such pain upon Mashir, far more than anticipated, was a cruel thing, something most other Jedi would decry as too close to the Dark Side, and not without reason. Kai could only hope the Padawan had at least learned a few things from these experiences, he knew for sure that this experience had taught him a few things.

Thus, as the master teaches the apprentice, so too does the master learn in kind.


End file.
